


beautiful, dirty, rich

by sheswanderlust



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Las Vegas, M/M, drinking and clubbing, well you know how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21810895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheswanderlust/pseuds/sheswanderlust
Summary: Yep, this is aboutthatnight in Vegas.
Relationships: Charles Leclerc/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 15
Kudos: 119





	beautiful, dirty, rich

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I have some people to thank: **NotAScandinavian** , for all the discussions about what happened in Vegas and for sending me the song I used for the title of this story; **Thegreatgasly** , for listening to me while I babble about this pairing; **Volleylover_09** , my partner in crime in every fandom. I hope you all will enjoy this. 
> 
> Oh, you can find me on Tumblr: iammany.tumblr.com. Come and say hi, I love to talk <3
> 
> English is not my first language so I'm sorry for any mistake. 
> 
> Disclaimer: as usual I don't know Daniel and Charles and this is all fantasy. Yet I still wanna know what happened in Vegas.

Vegas is _grand_. There’s no other way to put it. It’s all Charles can think as he looks up at the massive chandelier lit by led lights, warm bodies moving around him. He’s not new to lavish clubs – not at all. His glittering Monegasque education has been imparted on the leather couches of Jimmy’z and in the sleek dark corners of MK, yet _this_ – this is something else entirely.

The room is huge, walls disappearing in the dark, laser lights pointing around, people moving on the dancefloor and the balcony. The loud bass seems to be thumping somewhere inside Charles’ ribcage, so loud that it replaces the beating of his heart. He closes his eyes for a second, feeling his balance sway for the overwhelming stimuli he is surrounded by and the good quantity of alcohol he has already ingested before entering the club, the bodyguard ticking off his name from the guest list. Right in that moment, his lazy hips following the rhythm of the music, a hand touches his arm and he opens his eyes to find Daniel looking at him, two vodka shots in one hand, his curls shining from the white led lights caressing them. Charles takes his shot and gulps it; he cannot hold back a grimace, acetone taste down his throat, and the Australian laughs, taking the empty glasses and carelessly leaving them on the nearest table before catching Charles’ hand and dragging him back to the centre of the dancefloor.

Charles doesn’t know what time it is; chronological concerns don’t seem to belong in the club. He has a feeling of nakedness on his left wrist, where he usually wears the watch, that evening forgotten somewhere in the hotel room in the hurry of getting ready to go out. He guesses it has to be almost four in the morning; his friends left half an hour before, tired by the trip from Los Angeles and by the clubbing that ensued just as soon as they set foot in Vegas. He and Daniel had decided to stay back, and he had felt a rush of euphoria at the idea of being alone with the other driver. Not that it changed much – since they had met, Dan waiting for them on the Strip wearing his usual Cali look, big smile on his face and ugly ankle socks poking from his trainers, they had started gravitating towards each other, a weird tension flowing between their bodies and separating them from the rest of that chaotic group, eyes locking more than necessary and Dan’s hand finding Charles’ skin with an ease that made something flutter in the Monegasque’s stomach.

The upbeat slows down and the lights change too, green flowing into violet, the room darkening, smoke filtering from fog machines and clouding the high and unreachable ceiling over the crowd. The change to the deep monotonous rhythm makes Charles feel dizzy, the hot air of the room suddenly heavy and suffocating. The taste of vodka still burns his tongue. He needs some fresh air and tugs at Dan’s arm, nudging him towards the door.

The rush of oxygen hits him as soon as they are out on the terrace of the club. The sky is there again, as is the indented horizon made of buildings and billboards; a more nuanced lounge music fills the air. He leans against the wall and breathes deeply.

Daniel’s hand reaches for his face, slowly brushing his hair away from his forehead.

«Are you ok?»

Soft tone, concerned eyes. Charles feels a bit dizzier.

«Yeah, I just needed a moment away from the madness inside» he murmurs with a half laugh. Dan smiles, his hand doesn’t stop caressing Charles’ hair, the regular movement soothing against his heated skin.

«It can get intoxicating after a while»

Charles nods tiredly. Daniel’s movements lull him and the older driver’s eyes don’t leave him, checking him as to make sure he’s okay. There’s something sweet in that unnecessary worry. Caring shade, attentive fingers. Charles tries to focus on the solid wall behind him.

He doesn’t know how they ended up like that, too close on a Vegas terrace during a hot summer night. Untangling the wires of their relationship had always been too heavy a task – the Australian driver had seemed to keep him at distance when he first joined the paddock the season before, and Charles had behaved accordingly. He had never blamed him for it – it felt like they had known each other from a previous, happier life. Then the beginning of the new season had come and brought them closer. Charles couldn’t pinpoint the start of this change; it was a blur of shared jokes during drivers’ briefings and late-night texts, forcing himself to stay awake, the light of his smartphone illuminating the pillow, Dan typing from some blocks away in the same town. With the passing of months they had grown closer and closer up to that moment, the Vegas skyline in front of them. Charles follows the profile of the tall buildings, echoes from the chaos of the streets vaporing up like smoke and dissolving against the dark sky lit by the ever-glowing lights of the city.

Daniel’s hand is still caressing his hair, playing with the short locks, leaving a light sense of tickling on Charles’ temple. The Monegasque smiles. On that crowded terrace, an undefined time between night and early morning, without past and without future, it feels like that moment is only theirs.

«Let’s go back inside»

There’s a dirty candour in the way Charles leans against the bar, elbow propped up, fingers casually holding his champagne glass, teeth unconsciously biting his lower lip, eyes scanning the crowd. Daniel cannot help to stare – a million people would pay to learn those model poses he seems to pull off with the same ease of a sleek overtake with drs open. He follows as Charles takes the champagne bottle and fills his glass up before drinking, eyes closed for a split second – flashes of podiums to come, gold to lift, history to write. Daniel can see him – trophy in his hand instead of the glass he’s holding, crown on his head instead of the dark blue bandana he’s wearing.

He has the sudden urge to prevent his eyes from wandering over Charles’ body and he gulps his glass of champagne – not the best idea, he thinks, wondering for a moment why they felt the need to buy that bottle, after the alcohol they have already drunk in the last hours. Yet Charles is there in front of him and Daniel doesn’t care about the dizziness he starts to feel in his head. There’s a sort of heated intimacy between them – there has been for the whole night. They are alone in that babel of bodies, music so loud that they need to kill the distance between them to hear each other. He fills his own glass and Charles’ one – again. The white Burberry t-shirt he’s wearing is bright under the purple lights of the club, caressing his thin hips and tracing the faint profile of his nipples; there’s something boyish and frail in his long skinny legs clad in tight black jeans – Dan sees himself pushing that body against the bar, almost feels the smooth heat of his skin under his lips. He shakes his head, hoping that the other driver won’t notice the movement, and drinks, feeling all too clearly how easy it would be to just lose control and do what his mind tells him to do.

Charles hasn’t been an easy topic for him in the last couple of years – he cannot deny having avoided him during his year at Alfa Romeo. There were too many sunny memories linked to that mop of hair, the same of the bright boy hiding behind Jules on an afternoon of a long-gone time. The eyes were somehow different, though – Daniel knew very well why, but still had opted for keeping himself at a distance from Jules’ protégé, never deepening their relationship. It hurt. 

That night, though, swaying hips and liquid eyes, Charles isn’t Jules’ protégé anymore, nor the little boy Daniel met years ago. He’s all asphyxiating beauty and unsettling talent – Daniel cannot deny being almost scared by it, from time to time, by the unpredictable quality it has and the almost worrying determination of his pace. He really tried to give himself a concrete answer about how it happened, when Charles started taking up such a new role in his life – he couldn’t come up with anything. Yet here they are – and Daniel cannot stop the need to be closer, to own him completely, frail wrists and dangerous eyes and high hopes and alabaster façade. 

He leans in laughing at something Charles says and notices a man some meters away staring at him. He looks at Charles for a second, wondering if he’s aware of the effect he has on everyone around him – there’s a faint narcissistic trace buried in his innocence, so faint that Daniel cannot really follow it. He feels a rush of jealousy at way the unknown man scans the Monegasque’s body and he suddenly longs for the middle of the dancefloor, a chaos where weirdly enough it feels like no one can join them. He takes his hand, noticing how he doesn’t shy away from the contact, fingers immediately lacing with his own. The bottle of champagne is empty on the counter – in that moment alcohol feels tastier than on the podium. 

Charles knows he’s well over tipsy. He can feel it in his head, in the way his usual overthinking somehow stopped working, a state he chases more often than he would like to admit. He can feel it in his body, in the way his legs seem weaker – he thinks his balance may fail him, yet Daniel’s hands have found their place on his hips a couple of songs ago. He’s closer, too, and Charles has the urge to lean in more. He’s drunk enough to do it, and lays his forehead on the Australian’s shoulder. He doesn’t know what he’s doing – or better, he knows it all too well, but the knowledge is buried under too much alcohol for him to overthink it. Daniel raises one hand to his hair and Charles feels engulfed in him. There’s something warm in the way he can feel the bass thumping in the other driver’s chest. A new song blasts from the audio system of the club and he can hear a _this is what you came for_ losing itself in the high frequencies. He cannot repress a giggle. How fitting, he thinks, the knowledge that deep down this – the music, the alcohol, _Daniel_ \- is exactly what he came for.

Daniel joins his laugh. «What is it, Charlie boy?» his voice is so close to his ear. He shakes his head, catching the cheeky sweetness of the nickname.

«We should drink more» it’s what he blurts out, knowing that no, they don’t, but it doesn’t really matter.

Daniel is drunk enough to agree, and this time Charles doesn’t wait for him to come back to the dancefloor with shots, the idea of separating himself from the Aussie not even reaching his mind. He absent-mindedly follows the movements of the bartender serving them shots, still partially engulfed in Daniel’s hug.

«This bomb here is called Rollercoaster» Daniel explains, and Charles cannot help but laugh at his pedagogical tone, more apt for a science lesson than for a Vegas club. «The first time I tried it I woke up the morning after on a bench on the Strip»

«The Strip is just outside this building» Charles doesn’t know where he finds enough clarity to point it out.

«Not the Vegas Strip, the _Los Angeles_ Strip» is the smug reply. The Monegasque shakes his head, clinks his shot glass against Daniel’s and gulps the drink in one go.

It tastes like shit. But it also tastes like freedom, release, like the complete lack of deep analysis so ingrained in his mind. He savours the feeling, his throat burning. Another beat, another song, Daniel’s drunk eyes light up.

«I love this one» he exclaims excited, before dragging Charles to the dancefloor again.

The Monegasque can only laugh while Daniel starts half dancing, half jumping in the middle of the floor. There’s something so carefree in his movements, in the sheer happiness that radiates from him.

«How can you be like this?» he finds himself asking.

«Like what?»

Daniel’s eyes are on him and Charles feels at loss of words.

«Like… _this_ » he gesticulates at him, hoping that the other will understand what he means. Dan laughs and pull him closer and Charles himself starts jumping with him, and right there, right now, he feels part of the Australian’s joy for the first time. It’s intoxicating, but maybe it’s that damn Rollercoaster, or the champagne bottle, or the endless number of shots they’ve had. Yeah, it must be the alcohol. The artificial smoke gets thicker on the dancefloor, stained by the red lights descending from the huge chandelier upon their heads. Charles feels dizzy but he keeps jumping. The whole experience feels unreal – his body loose, the rhythm somewhere under his feet, the smoke around him, red, red everywhere, and that screaming sense of joy pervading him. Daniel is even closer than Charles thinks when he hears _welcome to Las Vegas, baby_ whispered to his ear. He realises a couple of seconds later than Daniel’s lips are on his.

There’s nothing of the Aussie’s usual playfulness in the kiss. Charles feels his hand gripping the back of his head to keep him still, tongue probing deeper and deeper in his mouth. It’s a burning feeling, Dan being so surprisingly commanding and rough – Charles cannot hold back a moan. He feels the other man’s lips curving in a smile on his own, blatantly pleased by the confirmation of the effect he’s having on him. For a second Charles wonders if he should feel annoyed by that arrogant grin; his only answer is gripping Daniel’s shoulders, his body closing the distance between them.

The music is loud in his ears and so is the suffocating feeling of the crowded dancefloor, yet everything feels muffled by Daniel’s body against his. The Australian’s hands reach his hipbones and roughly drag him even closer. The lack of oxygen gets too much and Charles breaks the kiss. His eyes meet Daniel’s and everything is there, everything is so strong like the last straight when you’re leading the race – mad pulse and short breath and kaleidoscope thoughts and no hesitation at all. He attacks Daniel’s lips, teeth teasing his lower lip, feeling him immediately reciprocating the kiss. The bass thumps monotonous but Charles doesn’t follow it anymore, lost in the rhythm of his own hips shamelessly grinding against Daniel’s.

«Someone is hungry» whispers Daniel, before descending down to Charles’ neck and biting his soft skin. He represses a shiver at the intense feeling and hides his face in the Australian’s broad shoulder. He’s so dizzy and drunk – on alcohol, on Daniel, he doesn’t even know. Daniel’s fingers are strong on his hips, digits on his bones, pressing down like he wants to leave a mark.

He knows where this is heading – he thinks he should be insecure about it. There have been moments, of course. In the dark shadows of dancefloors, hands bigger than his own gripping his hips, stubble scratching his neck, and then fingers fumbling with belts in secluded bathrooms, words whispered, praises that he drank like ambrosia. Charles can remember the cold floor against his knees and the toned profile of some unknown man’s abs glistening when he looked up from between his legs. Yet it has never been more than that – rushed blowjobs without a name. This is something else – it’s _Dan_ , and it’s a completely new intensity, a completely new desire from him. He should be insecure about it, yes – but he’s not.

Daniel’s tongue is ravishing him again, hands grabbing his ass – they must look obscene, grinding on each other like that in the middle of the dancefloor. At the thought Charles grinds more, earning a moan from Daniel. He can feel him hard – shit, he himself doesn’t think he’s ever been _that_ hard in his life from just making out.

«Fuck» the older driver breaks the kiss with a half laugh. «We should go somewhere else, what do you think?»

There’s a reckless light in Daniel’s eyes – a dangerous shade, the need to own him and the power to do it. The Australian’s hands are still on his hips, possessive and demanding. Charles feels arousal sliding down his spine and nods.

Vegas lights are violent in the early morning as they stumble out of the club. The Strip is crowded as usual and Dan waves to call one of the yellow taxis pulling out of the road, the gesture messier than he had planned. Charles’ hand is clutched to his while they sit on the backseat. He needs a couple of seconds to remember the name of the hotel he’s staying at, alcohol making everything fuzzy and unstable, Charles’ head leaning against his shoulder, hot breath on his neck.

The taxi drives back into the lane, moving slowly in the traffic, and Dan’s attention is again on Charles, messy drunk needy beautiful Charles, lips swollen and chapped from making out, shimmering eyes shiny and feverish, lights from outside tiptoeing on his skin. He almost leans in but Charles is faster than him – a recurrent thought lately – and kisses him again, demanding hands on his cheeks, lips opening as to invite him in. Dan loses his last string of self-control – Charles is there and there’s no way he’s going to stop now.

He grabs the Monegasque’s hips and drags him to sit in his lap, barely holding back a moan when he feels the other straddling him, grinding slow and steady on his erection, arms resting on his shoulders. He knows they shouldn’t do this – they are throwing caution to the wind, behaving like two horny reckless teenagers on the backseat of a taxi, the chance of being spotted by someone who may recognise them too high to be ignored – yet he ignores everything. The need he has of Charles is destabilising, so desperate it almost blurs in fury. The kiss gets more heated, Dan’s hands rising to Charles’ hair and finding the fabric of his bandana. He takes it off and toss it on the seat – he needs to feel that hair between his fingers without any constraint. He tugs at it roughly, eliciting a moan from Charles.

«Do you like it?» he asks, lips close to his ear. «Do you let people grab your hair like this?»

He feels Charles nodding against his neck, but it’s not enough.

«Answer me, babe»

«Yes…» the neediness in his tone turns him on even more. He kisses him, hand grabbing his hair again and again. The engine roaring under him, Charles squirming in his lap – Dan has the feeling he could already come with this much.

He makes sure to leave a hefty tip to the driver when they reach the hotel. They cross the hall going straight for the lift and Daniel cannot help but scoff when a group of just-arrived tourists gets in before the doors close. He imposes upon himself not to put on a show like they just did in the taxi and keeps his eyes on the metal doors, trying to focus on the tired chatting of the group – _delayed flight, at least we did get our luggage without problems, gonna need some hours of sleep before heading out_ – he really, really tries to ignore Charles leaning against him, probably even more drunk than he is, nose nuzzling against his neck, hand looking for his.

Somewhere around the seventh floor he fails and looks down, meeting Charles’ eyes staring at him, lips slightly parted, t-shirt crinkled, cheeks red from arousal. As soon as the lift reaches the nineteenth floor he pulls him out and through the corridor, soft moquette muffling their steps. Charles’ arm laces around his waist and Daniel pushes him against the wall, the younger driver letting out a surprised sound when his back hits the hard surface. The kiss is almost violent this time, desperate roughness anticipating what’s going to be once they reach the room, Daniel thrusting against him and caging him between himself and the wall. He forces himself to break the kiss only to drag Charles to room 1910, fingers shaking while opening the door. 

The thud of the door closing behind them is loud –the rest of the world is finally shut outside. Inside of the room it’s only about them, chests heaving and wet lips and darkness filling the spaces between their bodies. Daniel’s hands find their way under Charles’ t-shirt. There’s an addictive feeling in holding those hips, so thin he would almost fear to break them – he knows he won’t, Charles doesn’t break easily. He’s pliant in his arms, so sensitive and responsive under his touch, shivering every time Daniel grinds harder against him, all messy hair and parted lips. He looks so impossibly young and something tugs at Daniel, forcing him to be responsible for a moment, to be the adult out of the quivering mess they are.

He takes hold of Charles’ arms to stop him for a second. «Are you sure you wanna do this?» he asks, trying to steady his breathing and forcing the drunken swaying of his mind in a corner. Charles doesn’t stop, and his _yeah_ vibrates on Dan’s lips. There’s a shade in his eyes though, a trembling innocence that the Australian cannot unsee, so he reluctantly breaks the kiss, a doubt in his mind.

«Charles, wait» he still has hold of the Monegasque’s wrists, stopping him midway «Have you had sex with a man before?»

The question lingers in still air for long seconds before getting answered.

«No»

Dan is taken aback. He wasn’t expecting this – Charles so daring and effortless and pliant in conceding himself to him. He doesn’t have time to rethink, though, the Monegasque kissing him again, arms still blocked in his hands.

«Please» there’s a tint of vulnerability in the way Charles asks, the first shade of fragility Dan has seen from him in the last hours. Yet vulnerability melts in the strength of those eyes and he feels like he’s staring at burning fire, so hot it’s almost painful. And the way Charles is in front of him _is_ almost painful indeed, Daniel thinks, chiselled perfection and dirty hips and the same reckless innocence he has with his helmet on.

He doesn’t break eye contact while he pushes him backwards until they reach the bed and fall on it. Everything seems still while Daniel savours the moment: Charles trapped between him and the mattress, eyes filled with lust and anticipation, hands still blocked by his, looking at him like he’s waiting for his attack. It’s then that it hits him – the almost reverent feeling of having Charles open and defenceless under him, giving up control in a way so unlike him. It’s surreal, like the morning starting to lighten the dark outside of the window, the city still dancing nineteen floors under them. 

He kisses him and lets go of his wrists – and it’s even better than it’s been all night, Charles immediately hugging him close, fingers grabbing the fabric of Daniel’s t-shirt, opening his legs slightly so that Dan can settle himself better on top of him.

He quickly takes off Charles’ t-shirt and his own, letting them fall on the floor. The Monegasque’s skin is pale in the faint light as Daniel leaves a long trace of kisses from his neck to the right nipple, taking it in his mouth and feeling Charles’ hands immediately grab his hair, a soft sigh leaving his lips. The sigh becomes a moan when he bits lightly and rubs the other nipple between thumb and index. He feels even harder while the Monegasque drunkenly humps against him, chest heaving, fingers tightening on his hair, back arching away from the mattress. 

The clink of the belt is loud in the room and Daniel hears Charles’ breathing hitch. He comes up, face against his, lips hovering while his hand gets into the Monegasque’s skin-tight jeans, caressing his erection. He tries to be slow, he really tries, but Charles is panting under him, biting his lower lip to try to stop the moans, and Dan feels like he’s quickly losing it. He touches him faster, Charles’ breathing gets harsher and he doesn’t even try to stop his moans anymore, too lost in the feeling of Daniel’s hand on his cock, only the thin fabric of his boxer between them.

He stops when he feels Charles’ fingers digging in his arm and understands that he’s too close. He finishes to undress them both and loses himself in the view of Charles being stunningly beautiful, sprawled naked on the bed, dishevelled hair and red cheeks and chest heaving. He reaches out for the toiletry bag on the nightstand and takes out lube and condom, feeling greyish-greenish eyes on him.

There’s a pained shade in the hiss that leaves Charles’ lips, while Dan pushes his finger inside him. He stops enough to let him recover before pushing again, eyes scanning his face for any discomfort. He adds another finger as Charles starts to get used to his presence, hips slowly joining the rhythm, eyes unfocused, hands grabbing Daniel’s shoulders. The grip gets suddenly stronger when Daniel brushes lightly his prostate. Charles arches under him, lips open in a silent scream.

«Do you like it babe?» whispers Daniel. 

Charles can only nod and Daniel brushes his spot again, another rush going to the Monegasque’s brain. The movements get more frenetic and there’s a sacred and dirty intimacy in this – in the way Charles is under him an and is feeling all this _for the first time_ , in his unfocused eyes, in the way one hand goes and pushes Dan’s arm to feel his fingers deeper inside. His face is a constellation of moles and barely visible freckles and pleasure dancing on his cheekbones while a litany of _please, please, please_ comes out of those rhubarb lips.

Daniel feels like everything is spinning around them, while he positions himself on Charles’ entrance and slowly pushes in. He can feel his own pulse, can feel his head light from the alcohol and from the way Charles is looking at him – this time the vulnerability is all there, pure and not watered down by well-rehearsed aloofness. And Daniel feels every single emotion in such an intense way, the possessive need to bury himself in him and ruin him and ravish him, and at the same time the importance of that moment, the wish to make him feel better than he ever felt. Time seems to stop while Charles adapts to Daniel’s cock inside him. He bites his lower lip hard, trying to overcome the wave of pain, his breathing faltering. The Australian strokes his hair, and reminding him to _breathe slowly, it’s ok_ with feather kisses on his lips.

Charles is hot, hotter than anything else Daniel has ever known in his life – he’s tight and burning red taking him fully in. He tries to keep still until Charles starts moving. That’s when he opens his eyes and looks at him, irises dark and ready in the shadows of the room – and Daniel cannot resist anymore. He pushes and feels Charles’ nails digging in his shoulders, mouth looking for his, legs around him. It’s rough – teeth clashing and erratic rhythm and hands gripping hard to bruised hips. It’s perfect, that’s all he manages to think, and he’s not even sure why his brain is so lost, if it’s the alcohol or the surreal feeling of being inside Charles.

Daniel pushes and pushes and Charles spontaneously reaches for his cock, but he’s not going to allow it. He pins his wrists down against the mattress, reaching for his lips.

«No touching»

He relishes this control – the knowledge of having him completely, exhausted mind and undone body and those stains of fragility he’s showing him in that bed. So he goes on, one hand on his hip, another blocking his wrists, riding him relentlessly, adrenaline rush in seeing him lose it, a gorgeous marble statue blemished by pleasure in a tacky Vegas suit.

The heat is almost asphyxiating and Dan feels his head spinning, in his ears Charles babbling incoherently, _s’il te plaȋt oh my god more_ weaving together, voice broken and ragged. He can feel him on the edge and lets his wrists free, both hands now steady on his bruised hips, the Monegasque immediately gripping his shoulders to keep him as close as possible. The crazy rhythm of their hips is the only thing keeping Dan anchored to reality, the rest is a blurred intensity.

Charles clenches around him when he comes, body giving out while Dan thrusts a few more times before reaching his orgasm and collapsing on top of him.

There’s a buzz in his ears while he tries to recover, head spinning and lungs heaving, the pillow fresh against his face, Charles’ body hot and sweaty under him. As soon as he regains a sort of composure he props himself on his elbows to look at the Monegasque, laying there limp. He brushes his hair away from the forehead – the gesture feels even more intimate after what they just did, with sheets creased and air still heavy with sex. And Charles himself seems so delicate in that moment, lips parted, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling while he tries to regularise his breathing. After a while he opens his eyes, irises lost and confused, a faint smile on his lips. Out of nowhere, Dan feels a lump in his throat. 

«Hey» is all he can manage to say, because there’s something so intense about that moment, about the way Charles lays there defenceless under him. The Monegasque’s answer is a barely audible _hi_ and Daniel smiles, laying on the bed on the side, the other driver immediately moving to settle in his arms. It feels right to hold him, to slowly caress his hair while he falls asleep, tucked against his shoulder. Daniel feels that there’s _something_ in that moment, in the way his heart feels warm with Charles in his hug, in the meaning this intimacy seems to hold. Not now, though – all his mind can process right now is Charles’ breathing lulling him to sleep. 

Out of the window the sun has risen, a pale blue tint lighting the sky. Vegas is still dancing.


End file.
